Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home.

Beginning with the end can also give us valuable perspective in the midst of temptations. When I turned 15 years old, my father taught me to drive a car. He took me to a long, straight, two-lane road on the outskirts of my hometown in Tennessee. He pulled the car over onto the shoulder and let me get in the driver’s seat. He instructed me to look in my mirrors for oncoming cars and then to ease out onto the road. I excitedly followed his coaching and drove with what I thought was great care and caution. That is until he said, “Son, pull the car over. You’re making me nauseous. You are swerving all over the road. What are you looking at?”
With some exasperation, I answered, “I’m looking at the road.”
Then he said, “I’m watching your eyes, and you are looking only at what is right in front of the hood of the car. If you look only at what is directly in front of you, you will never drive straight.” Then he emphasized, “Keep your eyes down the road, on where you want to go. That will help you drive straight.”
As we travel on the road of our lives, one reason we may swerve or veer from the straight and narrow path is that we get too myopic and just look at what is immediately in front of us. We will make better choices if we lift our eyes up regularly to ensure we are headed in the right direction. Satan often tries to distract us from what we want most (think of those eternal blessings) and trade them for things that are enticing and that we feel we must have in any given moment.

As noted, Sister Heistø decided to obtain a theology degree. Her family and friends had told her that if she’d had any intelligence she could have seen through the lies of Mormonism. She felt that by attending a Norwegian Lutheran theological seminary and obtaining a theological degree she could show her intelligence and counter the criticisms by family and friends for joining the LDS Church.

One of her first classes was Philosophy of Religions, taught by Professor Guttorm Fløistad. At the end of the course, Professor Fløistad asked for suggestions on how he might improve the course for future offerings. Sister Heistø raised her hand and suggested he add a section on the philosophy of Mormonism. Professor Fløistad responded that he didn’t know enough about Mormonism. Sister Heistø quickly suggested that she could arrange for a Latter-day Saint scholar from Brigham Young University to come to Norway and give a lecture at Oslo University on Mormonism. Then Professor Fløistad could use the BYU professor’s lecture material for his course. Professor Fløistad was agreeable to her suggestion, although it may have been a polite way to close the discussion. However, Sister Heistø, with her strong determination, followed through and arranged for Professor Truman Madsen from BYU to go to Norway. Professor Madsen gave a superb lecture, and Professor Madsen and Professor Fløistad became close friends.

When I went to Norway as mission president, Sister Heistø approached me about having Professor Fløistad visit BYU and lecture at the Kennedy Center. I made contact with the university for an invitation and made arrangements with a donor to pay for his expenses. It was a marvelous experience that resulted in Professor Fløistad becoming one of the Church’s best public relations friends in Norway.

One interesting side note about Professor Fløistad’s visit that shows Sister Heistø’s fortitude when representing the Lord was the commitment she extracted from Professor Fløistad before coming to BYU. The European area presidency visited Oslo and gave a seminar on member missionary work. At the end of the seminar, Elder Carlos Asay, then the European area president, asked the members to make a commitment to give at least three referrals a month to the full-time missionaries. That gave Sister Heistø an idea.

The next day Sister Heistø telephoned Professor Fløistad and said, “Since we are paying for you to go to Utah to learn about the Mormons, I think we should get something in return.” He responded that her request seemed fair and asked what she had in mind. She then suggested that he invite at least three people a month to learn more about the Mormons. He agreed to the request.

Professor Fløistad had taken a year’s sabbatical from Oslo University to study leadership and management in Norwegian businesses. Arrangements had been made for him to tour Norway giving lectures on his findings. The day he returned from Utah he began a week’s tour in Norway visiting major cities and lecturing to Norway’s leading business executives. At the end of the week, when he returned to Oslo, Professor Fløistad telephoned Sister Heistø to give a report on his visit to Utah and to thank her for arranging the trip.

Professor Fløistad then asked Sister Heistø if she remembered the commitment she had extracted from him. She said yes, and he then asked her what it was. She replied that he was to invite at least three people a month to learn more about the Mormons.

He said, “I’ve done better than that. I gave six lectures this week to business executives, and I have invited each of them to learn about your church.” He then added, “Do you want to know what I said?”

“Of course!” she replied.

He continued, “I told them that I have found the most perfect organization, and it is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He then added, “Even if you are not interested in religion, the next time two Mormon missionaries knock on your door, let them in. There is much you can learn from the Mormons.”

A week later Professor Fløistad telephoned again. He said, “Rigmor, I understand Mormons like reports.” She confirmed that we do, and he said, “I’ve called to give you another report. This week I gave five more lectures, and again I invited my audiences to learn more about the Mormons.”

It didn’t stop there. Professor Fløistad has returned to BYU three times. And now, 10 years later, he tells me that he still gives about 400 lectures a year, and in at least one out of three lectures he talks about what his audience can learn from the Mormons.

Today, 12-year-old Loni, of the Jordan (Utah) Oaks Fifth Ward, can’t remember all of that trouble, but she’s heard enough about it to want to change things somehow. So on January 1, Loni set a goal to sew clothes small enough for babies as tiny as one or two pounds and donate them to the hospital.

“If she sets a goal, she does it,” says Sharon. “There is no stopping her.” Loni says she is always working on one goal or another. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s service oriented or meant for self-improvement; Loni is up to the challenge.

Her idea to sew “preemie” clothes has definitely been one of the larger goals on that list. But for Loni it was easy. She has been sewing since age eight and had no problem finding doll patterns to shrink down and follow. Within a week Loni had sewn eight outfits and delivered them to the newborns at the University of Utah Hospital.

A local television station got wind of what she was doing and picked up her story when Loni delivered the clothes to the hospital. A local viewer was impressed and donated several bolts of material to Loni for more clothes.

Loni quickly took up the challenge and sewed 18 more outfits. This time she made tiny jogging suits, dresses, and night clothes for the infants. On March 1 she returned to the hospital with another batch of clothes.

There she met Kimberly and Mark Graham, whose son Colton had been in the hospital for six weeks. Colton was born 13 weeks early and had only been dressed twice when Loni delivered the clothes. Kimberly was touched by Loni’s ability and desire to do this for her son and the other infants at the hospital. “It means a lot to the parents,” she says. “It’s especially nice because some of these people could really use this. Dressing their babies up lets them feel that they’re going to be okay and helps them realize that there are other [premature] babies out there.”

Many of the clothes Loni delivered will remain at the hospital for other infants to wear during their stay or until they grow into store-bought clothes. And, most likely, Loni Frandsen will show up again at the Newborn Intensive Care Center with an armful of clothes. For Loni service is an everyday act. She says that goals like this allow her to be an example. “[They] help me because I can do things for other people, just like Jesus would.” Loni couldn’t have said that any better.

The first thing you notice about David Brown is his great big smile. Because of it, he makes friends wherever he goes. And David goes lots of places! David (10) has three older sisters and a younger sister, Kara.
Like most boys his age, he enjoys pizza and hot dogs. He likes to bake cookies with his mom. And he loves baseball. But David has some challenges in his life. He was born with spina bifida, a defect in which part of one (or more) vertebrae fails to develop, leaving a portion of the spinal cord exposed. Because of this, he is partially paralyzed from the waist down.
David sometimes uses a wheelchair. But he can also walk using crutches and braces. Unlike most children, David can remember learning to walk. His mom started working with him two hours a day when he was eighteen months old. Eleven months later, he could walk on his own. David and one of his parents make a four-hour drive to Shreveport, Louisiana, each time his braces need to be adjusted or repaired. Since David is very active, they usually have to make the trip more than once a month.
David always seems to find a way to do the things he wants to do. He enjoys swimming and playing Ping-Pong. And he likes bouncing on his trampoline. His sister Kara helps him climb the tree in their front yard, and he and his dad practice catching and hitting a baseball. This year David hopes to see a dream come true. He wants to play baseball in a real league.
David is a good helper at home. His regular chores are making his bed, picking up his toys, and making his school lunch every morning. Each evening he comes into the kitchen and asks, “How may I be of assistance to you, Mom?” He helps her by unloading the silverware from the dishwasher, putting the vegetables in the saucepan, or setting the table.
David is a poster child for a national charity for children with birth defects. He visits with lots of people and helps them to understand more about spina bifida. Sometimes he gets to meet famous athletes and have his picture taken with them.
The Browns are a traveling family. Each summer they take a big trip. They camp along the way, and they always take David’s hand-powered tricycle. David has ridden his trike in many wonderful places: the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol in Washington, D.C.; the Grand Canyon; Niagara Falls; Disney World; and even across the Royal Gorge Bridge. But David and his family agree that the best trips they have ever taken are the two trips they made to the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Every member of the family had a costume and a part in the pageant. David’s dad even played the part of Lehi one year.
David has many friends in Primary. His favorite Primary song is “I Want to Be a Missionary Now.” He hopes to go on a mission to Germany one day because his dad went there on his mission. David’s big smiles and hugs make Sunday a special day for lots of people.
David says, “I just want to be treated like any other kid.” But his happiness and his love for others make him one of a kind.

In December of 1987, four months after Soni and I were married, we joined her family on a vacation to Hawaii. One afternoon, her family was on Waikiki Beach enjoying the sun and sand. However, I wanted to do something a bit more adventurous. I convinced Soni and her grandmother to come with me to the famous Hanauma Bay, located on the other side of the island. At the bay, the locals were body surfing. It looked fun and I wanted to try. Despite my Idaho tan line, I started to feel like a native in the water. My confidence grew as I learned to dive under the big waves to avoid getting pummeled. I was enjoying myself until three large waves came ashore. I dodged the waves, but had not planned on the rush of water going out to sea. I found myself trapped in a river like current. In a short amount of time, I was far from the safety of the beach. I panicked! I had no life preserver or understanding of what was happening. All I could think about was the big sharks that were certainly lurking beneath. I tried to swim against the current, but my efforts proved futile. I was frantic! A few yards away from me was a young man with a surfboard. Desperately, I swam to him and grabbed for his board pleading for help. Not knowing what was going on, he jerked the board out of my hands and I went down under the water again. Fighting to get to the surface and gasping for air, I choked up the seawater that was threatening to fill my lungs. I was certain, that I was going to die! I needed help. Surrounded by complete despair, I felt so helpless, hopeless, and full of fear. I had never been more aware of my limitations and nothingness while in this awful condition. I wanted to live.

When I was in drowning in Hanauma Bay, I was certain I was going to die. Struggling to stay afloat and choking up seawater, I was desperate and eager for help. I did not know how to save myself. There was a man that was several yards away. He understood my situation and knew how to help. He encouraged me to calm down, pointed me at a 45-degree angle back to shore, and directed me to swim. I followed his council exactly, and within moments, I was back safely on the beach. Just like this man who helped me, I know that Jesus Christ knows our plight and how best to help.

Very recently I had another experience that represents something of a counterpoint to the episode with the young man. I was visiting a stake conference and, following the Saturday evening session, I was greeted by a woman who asked, “Do you remember me?” The face was vaguely familiar, but I needed help. The sister reminded me that she had been one of my students in a high school English class many years ago. I immediately remembered her as I had known her 32 years before. She was one of the student leaders, a good scholar, a cheerleader. We reminisced for a time on the experiences we had shared. She was pleased to introduce me to her family. Some of her children were married, and one son was serving as a missionary. There were several grandchildren. This was obviously a solid family, making a significant contribution to the community and the Church.
During our visit this good sister suddenly confronted me with the question, “Do you remember the day you asked me to leave your English class?” I was surprised by the question and could not remember such an event. I wondered if she might be confused in her recollection because I could recall nothing but good experiences with her as a student. “No,” she insisted, “there was the one day when we had a reckoning. I had been talking more than I should have done, and when you attempted to correct me, I made some remarks that I shouldn’t have made. You then asked me to leave the room. I was startled. No other teacher had ever disciplined me in that way. I refused to leave, and you assisted me to the hallway outside the classroom, telling me that I could return when I had learned to behave like a lady.
“I was incensed and embarrassed. I thought of the things I could do to get retribution. My father had influence in the community, and he would not tolerate this.
“Later in the day I began to reflect on what had happened. I realized that you were right and I was wrong. I knew then that teachers and classmates had too often tolerated that kind of behavior from me and that it was not good. I confronted a quality in myself that I had never been required to confront before, and I decided that I would change. That’s why I came back and apologized to you for my conduct in the class. It was a turning point in my life in an important way, and I will always be grateful to you.”
Here was a case where a young woman sensed her responsibility in an unfortunate situation and took responsible action to make things right. It has provided me with some interesting food for thought. What accounted for the difference between the reaction of this young woman and that of the young man who walked away from the seminary class? And what differences have come into their lives over the intervening years as a result of the way they responded to these situations and others like them?

Over the last hours I have come to understand other blessings from “always remembering him.” I thought of a family in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I met years ago: a father, mother, and two teenage daughters who belonged to no church but read the Bible together every day. They pondered the Savior’s life and his words. When we found them they had decided that Christ would have a church and that they should find it. They knew that it would have prophets and apostles at its foundation because that is what Christ had left in his church in the meridian of time. They knew that the resurrected Lord had appeared to his Apostles.
And so when we testified that God the Father and his Son, the Savior of the world, came to a boy prophet, Joseph Smith, that seemed right to them. When they heard us testify that Peter, James, and John appeared and restored priesthood, they knew that would have to have happened. And the Holy Spirit, which they also recognized, told them it was true. I realized sometime last night or early this morning that they recognized the truth—that this is the Church of Jesus Christ—in large part because they had always remembered him. Every day they had gathered to read about him and his words, and so they remembered him. And after they were baptized they were ready to follow the living prophet because they knew the Savior always speaks to his prophets to bless his people.

I saw it next in New England as I went to school. I was called as the counselor to a great district president who had been brought from disinterest in the Church to a man of great spiritual power. His home teacher loved him enough to ignore his cigar and see what God could see in him. The district president and I drove over the hills and along the shores to visit tiny branches that dotted Massachusetts and Rhode Island to build and bless the kingdom of God.

In the years I served with that great leader, we watched people draw friends to the Church by their example and by their invitation to listen to the missionaries. To me the growth of those branches seemed slow and faltering. But on the Sunday I left, five years later, two Apostles came to organize our district into a stake in the Longfellow Park chapel in Cambridge.

Years later I returned to conduct a stake conference there. The stake president took me to see a rocky hill in Belmont. He told me it would be a perfect place for a temple of God. One stands there now. When I gaze on it, I remember the humble members I sat with in tiny branches, the neighbors they invited, and the missionaries who were teaching them.

When our son Marco was three years old, he and I suffered a serious bout of food poisoning. Marco became so sick that he fell unconscious. My wife, Marianela, and I rushed him to the hospital. By the time we arrived, he looked like he was dead. Finally, after about four hours, he regained consciousness.
From then on, Marco suffered seizures off and on for the next five years. When we took him to bed each evening, we wondered if in the middle of the night, we would again have to rush him to the hospital. We had a difficult time sleeping during those stressful years, and we relied on prayer, faith, fasting, and priesthood blessings.
When Marco was about six, Marianela called me at work and told me to hurry to the hospital. Marco had suffered a serious seizure and was in a coma. When she called, I was working on the renovation of the Argentina Missionary Training Center, located adjacent to the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
Before I left for the hospital, a friend and fellow worker said, “Since we’re so close to the house of the Lord, why don’t we pray together first?” The temple was closed for renovation and expansion, but we approached the Lord’s house, where I prayed for Marco.
Despite everything we had gone through with Marco, I felt gratitude to God for the time Marianela and I had been able to share with him. As I prayed, I told Heavenly Father that we had tried to be good parents and had taken care of Marco the best we could. I also told Him that we would accept His will if He called Marco home.
When I arrived at the hospital, I didn’t know if Marco would survive the coma or, if he came out of it, whether he would be able to walk or talk again. After a grueling two hours, he awoke. He was exhausted, but he was all right. From then on, miraculously, he improved. Eventually, Marco was weaned off his medication and released for good from the hospital.
Marianela and I look back on that difficult time grateful that we still have Marco and grateful for the things we learned. Our trial united us and made us stronger spiritually. Without it, we might not have learned to recognize the many ways the Lord shows His hand in our lives.
As Marianela says, “We saw a mountain of evidence and experiences that have given us a testimony of the presence of God, that He is with us and that He listens to us. If we endure and have patience, blessings can come when we least expect them.”

Despite this experience, I fought an internal battle that was continually fueled by commonly asked questions about when I would submit mission papers and what my plans were. The mission decision was constantly on my mind. After graduating in 2021, I knew I had to make a choice, so I prayed, already sensing what the Lord wanted. I wanted a sign to give me a special pardon that I didn’t have to go. I did not expect what happened next.
The next day as usual, I picked up the others on my crew and headed to a jobsite, when a car came flying through a stop sign and crashed into us. Our truck was totaled and the car that hit us flew about 30 yards down the road. We had just pulled out of a gas station before the crash and none of us had put our seat belts yet. Miraculously, none of us were badly injured. Later, talking with the police officers, they told me that my coworker and I sitting in the front seat could easily have been thrown through the windshield without our seat belts on. Things started to settle in for me later that night, when I heard a familiar voice in my head saying “Travis, you could be dead right now. But you’re not.”
This changed my life. I realized I was protected because the Lord had something in store for me. Finally, I knew I truly was called to serve. Months later, I received my mission assignment: the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.

Just a few weeks ago, my brother and I caught a really strange toad in our neighbor’s front yard. We showed it to Mom and Dad, and they said it was not really a toad at all, but a special kind of lizard often called a horned toad.

We made a home for him by putting some sand in the bottom of an empty aquarium and setting it on top of the Ping Pong table outside on our back patio.

My dad asked a friend of his who studies lizards what horned toads eat, and he found out that they like big red ants. We went over to a park by a school where there was a small hole in the ground that had hundreds of ants running in and out. The ants crawled up on sticks that we placed on the ground and then my brothers and I flicked them into a jar. Back home we dumped them into the horned toad’s aquarium. He sat very still. But whenever an ant came close to him, he would zip over and gobble it up. One day we fed him ten ants, the next day twenty, and the next day thirty. Not knowing how many ants he should eat, we decided twenty was about right.

Our horned toad seems very happy, but we will probably let him go pretty soon. I think my dad wants to keep him though. Dad watches him a lot and has showed him to the Cub Scouts. Once he even put him in his coat pocket when he went home teaching. One of the families told Dad that they had some rattlesnake eggs. They handed him an envelope that was supposed to have the eggs inside, and when he opened it there was a trick paper clip wound on a rubber band that spun around and made a noise like a rattlesnake. My dad said he jumped and threw it on the floor, and everyone laughed. He had the last laugh, however, when he had them reach into his pocket and pull out the horned toad!

Our family has really learned a lot from watching our horned toad. Every night just after the sun goes down, he burrows into the sand and goes to sleep. Then in the morning, he comes out and sits in the sum until he gets warm. During the afternoon he spends most of his time in the shade. You know, he’s a lot like me. Except I don’t eat ants!

This last year my teenage daughter registered for several AP and honors courses. At the end of a particularly difficult term, as she faced finals week and was under maximum stress, I asked one morning what I could do to help her. She replied that she needed to finish a sculpture, a covered bowl in the shape of a turtle, later after school. I could help by soaking the turtle in water so that the clay would be more pliable when she came home from school. She left for school, and I proceeded to unwrap the turtle dish. I filled the sink with water and submerged the turtle. My daughter had told me to let it soak for a few minutes. I determined that 10 minutes would be good and went about other business. I lost track of time, eventually realized my error, and returned to the bathroom sink. I reached into the water with both hands, and, as I removed them, the shapeless turtle dripped through my fingers and disappeared back into the water. In wanting to help, I had made things far worse. How would I explain this when my daughter came home? Would this be one of those events that would damage her for life? Would she look back on her high school years and remember nothing but how her father murdered the clay turtle by drowning it in the sink? You see, I believe our greatest fear as parents is that our children might in some way be like us. I wasn’t sure that I would handle this situation particularly well if the sides were reversed.

When my daughter arrived home from school, I was anxiously waiting. I had practiced many speeches in my mind. Some of them were more filled with admissions of responsibility than others. I started by telling her that I had something awful to tell her. When she heard about the demise of the turtle, she smiled and simply said, “Dad, you really owe me one for this.” She is by nature forgiving, and my imperfections had once again failed to damage her too much.

Now the other personal report concerns my effort over the past year to improve my humility. I’ve had a couple of recent experiences that have greatly contributed to that effort, and I need to report them to you.

Two or three months ago I bought a bolt-end of material suitable for making suits. When I took it to a local tailor, he informed me that there was simply not enough in that bolt-end to make a suit that would fit me. Later that day, when I was in Salt Lake, I happened to drive by another tailor’s shop and decided to get a second opinion. To my astonishment, I was told: “Oh, sure. I can make you a suit from that fabric and, if you like, a second pair of pants and a vest.” I expressed my surprise and told him of my other conversation earlier in the day. He replied, “Well, you’ve just got to remember one thing. You’re not nearly as big a man in Salt Lake as you are in Provo.”

Marcus sat on the couch and watched cartoons. Mom picked up the toys and clothes he and his little sister, Julie, had left on the floor.
But it was hard for Marcus to hear the TV because Julie was crying.
Mom, can you make Julie be quiet? I’m trying to watch cartoons!
Marcus, it’s time for Julie’s nap. I want you to turn off the TV and do something else.
Marcus didn’t want to turn off the TV, but he did. He looked for something else to do. He saw his crayons, but he didn’t want to color.
He found a soccer ball, but he didn’t have anybody to play with. He picked up a toy, but its batteries weren’t working. He walked to Mom’s bedroom to ask for some new batteries.
When Marcus got to the bedroom, he saw Julie asleep in her crib. Mom was asleep on the bed next to some folded towels and a basket of socks.
Mom’s tired.
Instead of waking her up, Marcus decided to help her.
In the kitchen, he began putting the clean dishes in the cabinets, just like Mom always did—only a little louder.
After a couple of minutes, Mom walked into the kitchen. Marcus was sitting on the counter, trying to put away the plastic cups.
Marcus! What are you doing?
Surprise! I wanted let you rest.
Thank you, Marcus. I was very tired.
Mom gave Marcus a big hug and a kiss. As much as Marcus loved to watch cartoons, doing something to make Mom happy made him feel even better.

Many years ago, I went to work in a new company as Executive Vice President. This company was somewhat troubled, and somewhat disorganized. Reporting to me were six Vice Presidents, and the first time I called a meeting with those six, I arrived two minutes before nine a.m., to find only one sitting there. We talked for a few minutes, and then another other came in. They straggled in one after the other, the last one arriving more than 20 minutes late.

When they were all there, I said: "Gentlemen, I called this meeting for 9 o' clock. Only one of you was here on time. Each of you who arrived late, was guilty of gross discourtesy towards those who were here on time. Is your time more valuable than ours?" You could have heard a pin drop. After all, I would be the determining factor as to whether they got a raise or not. To the best of my recollection, none of them were ever late again.

1. Notice that Rachel describes specifics from before the priesthood blessing; this will be important to show the contrast of the healing after the blessing.
“When I was young, I had an expander (an orthodontic appliance) in the top of my mouth. One day I developed an infection and my gums swelled up around it. I was in terrible pain, and neither the dentist nor the orthodontist knew what was wrong or how to fix it. All they could do while they tried to figure it out was to give me pain medicine. I stayed home sick from school and spent most of the time sleeping. Every time the medicine wore off, I woke up in pain and cried until the next dose of medicine kicked in.1
2. If you were speaking with nonmembers, you’d want to tell a little more about what priesthood and home teacher mean.
“My mom asked my dad (a priesthood holder) to call one of our home teachers.2 He came over and helped my father give me a healing blessing. After the blessing, the pain never woke me up from sleep again. The swelling went down and I was able to stop taking the pain medicine. When I went back to the dentist, he was astonished and still couldn’t understand what had been wrong or how it healed. He was a member of our stake, so my mom told him I’d had a priesthood blessing, and then he understood why I was better.3
3. She shares how she was healed by priesthood power. Notice how she explains that her recovery puzzled the dentist. This demonstrates that her healing was a result of the blessing and a gift from our Heavenly Father.
“Ever since that experience, I’ve had a strong testimony of the true power of the priesthood. Whenever my testimony gets a little shaky, I can look back on this experience and remember what a real miracle it was. I know the Lord loves me and that it was His power that made me better.”4
4. She concludes her story by sharing a simple but powerful testimony.
Rachel M., Utah, USA

President McKay had evidently seen the temple in vision and described it in such detail to Church architect Edward O. Anderson that he was able to reproduce it on paper. As the design process proceeded, the initial drawing was modified. Upon seeing the latest drawings, President McKay said, “Brother Anderson, that is not the temple that you and I saw together.” The final drawings, needless to say, reflected President McKay’s original description.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly and every person stopped talking as if on cue. They focused their attention on the floor because they recognized that same girl—the one they had noticed earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging in ever higher circles around the uneven parallel bars, but she could have been just turning somersaults and they still would have noticed.
The girl on the floor was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking gymnast with a tiny frame and a blonde ponytail. But her looks were the only thing typical about her, and the crowd could always sense that.
Maybe they noticed her because of the saucy way she held her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that one-of-a-kind smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that infectious smile. Even when she landed in a belly flop on national television after a routine, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a meet on her 18th birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”
Her love of the audience was a carryover from childhood. Once when she was nine or ten she didn’t come home from school when she was supposed to, so her father went looking for her. He found her in the center of a circle of children, entertaining them with her tumbling tricks, not for the glory, just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family movies, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be taking a picture of someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.
After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to comprehend a life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few inches every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour and back in shape. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“Near the end of my traction one day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of chronic injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”
Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.
Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now she teaches a class full of third graders who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen, captivated, as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.
Diane just shrugs and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion.
For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

Have you ever met a ten-year-old school teacher? No? Well, meet Ellen Morgan, a pretty blond with a sunshiny smile. Ellen, along with her sisters Anna (12) and Claire (8), set up a summer “school” for children in their neighborhood.
Ellen lives in southern Idaho, right beside the Snake River near a place called Thousand Springs. It’s not easy to organize a neighborhood school when your nearest neighbor lives almost a mile away, but the Morgan sisters were determined to earn money for school clothes. Besides, teaching reading sounded like more fun than baby-sitting or doing yard work. They got busy in the old, one-room schoolhouse that their father fixed up on their property, and they sent out announcements that Thousand Springs Academy Summer School was about to begin.
Eight students came. Three days a week for six weeks Ellen and her sisters taught phonics, reading, arithmetic, and music. They also had nature walks, games, recess, and a nutritious snack every day. On the Fourth of July, the students put on a patriotic play for their families.
Teaching school comes naturally to Ellen. Her parents, Randall and DeAnna Morgan, used to be schoolteachers; now they make educational films. Her grandfather owned a business college, her grandmother and great-grandmother were teachers, and several aunts and uncles have taught school.
Ellen has four other brothers and sisters besides Anna and Claire: Jess (14), Bo (6), Laddie (3), and Jane (1). Everyone has inside and outside chores (Ellen takes care of the chickens), and there are many interesting things to do right on their own property. In summer they ride their horses, raft on the Snake River, wade in ditches, and swim in a nearby hot spring. In winter they cross-country ski, put on plays, and have cozy evenings reading aloud. It’s fun getting snowed-in, because that means having school and church at home.
When Thousand Springs Academy Summer School ended, the old schoolhouse was soon bustling again with the Morgan children’s latest project: the Thousand Springs Rural Community Library. Ellen and her older brother and sister collected hundreds of good books for young readers. When they have finished cataloguing the books, the library will be open two days a week, and it will have guest lecturers, story hours, and plays.